


Addicted (to the taste of you)

by smudgesofink



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Chris is supportive in the worst ways, Episode 7 Coda, In which Phichit takes too much delight in teasing Yuuri, M/M, Yuuri's brain is a traitorous thing, and Victor definitely isn't complaining about this new side of Yuuri, excessive amounts of kissing, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: It’s mortifying. Of course it’s mortifying.But even with his hands restless by his sides and his stomach buzzing with butterflies and adrenaline and nerves, Yuuri finds that he oddly doesn’t mind the attention. Or rather, Yuuri can’t bring himself to care, for once. He’s exhausted to the bone from his performance, eyes slow and limbs heavy from running on little to no sleep for more than 24 hours now, not to mention kind of emotionally drained from his mental breakdown earlier.If anything, Yuuri kind of wants Victor to kiss him again. Preferably right now.At once.Immediately.(It’s turning into a problem.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Опьяненный (твоим вкусом)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9538514) by [helenbeauty01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenbeauty01/pseuds/helenbeauty01)



> This is super late (and hella self-indulgent) coda to Episode 7 and I'm super embarrassed, tbh. But more importantly,
> 
> mY ICE BABIES ARE CANON <3 <3 <3 I AM SOBBING.

During the awarding ceremony of the China Cup event, Katsuki Yuuri knows three things:

One, he has won silver, and Phichit has won his first gold.

Two, Christophe Giacometti won’t stop pinching his ass in teasing retaliation to Yuuri snatching the second place from him.

And three, Yuuri’s mouth tastes of Victor’s expensive chapstick.

…His mind is a little too concentrated on the last thought.

Once they get off the ice, a crowd of reporters surround them in an instant with their microphones and rapid fire questions. There are cameras flashing on their faces as the reporters try to get brief statements out of them, and as Phichit tells the press how honored he is to win gold and that he’ll work hard in the Grand Prix Finals, Yuuri discreetly chews on his lower lip, heart drumming inside his ribcage.

His lips are still tingling, still a little tender from the hasty collision Victor initiated earlier, and Yuuri’s breath catches at the reminder of it. Victor kissed him. _Victor kissed him._ On the ice rink, in front of the whole audience where Minako-sensei is in somewhere and the judges, possibly on international television which his friends are watching in Japan, along with his older sister, his father, his mother—

(Dear god, _his_ _mother._ What will she _say?_ )

Phichit has a picture of it on his phone, and it’s already on his Instagram with over a hundred thousand likes and shares. Guang-Hong nervously tells him YouTube is exploding with video uploads of the kiss.

It’s mortifying. Of course it’s mortifying.

But even with his hands restless by his sides and his stomach buzzing with butterflies and adrenaline and nerves, Yuuri finds that he oddly doesn’t mind the attention. Or rather, Yuuri can’t bring himself to care, for once. He’s exhausted to the bone from his performance, eyes slow and limbs heavy from running on little to no sleep for more than 24 hours now, not to mention kind of emotionally drained from his mental breakdown earlier.

If anything, Yuuri kind of wants Victor to kiss him again. Preferably right now.

At once.

Immediately.

~~It’s turning into a problem.~~

“Katsuki Yuuri,” Yuuri blinks at the mention of his name, snapping into focus, “Congratulations for coming in second! Can you give us your thoughts about today?”

Yuuri nods dumbly, and says, “Victor,” _tastes like chapstick and peppermint toothpaste. He has the softest lips. I want to kiss him again and never stop—_ and promptly chokes on the next words, closing his mouth before his lack of brain to mouth filter can screw him over permanently. Next to him, Phichit snorts out a laugh.

“S-Skater Katsuki?” The reporter asks, concerned. “Are you alright?” All the others seem to hang on to his words, faces eager as they wait Yuuri to say more. On hindsight, starting a sentence with Victor’s name right after what happened probably isn’t the best idea.

“Y-Yes! W-Well, um, Victor—”, he stutters eloquently and by his side, Phichit is giving him a shit-eating grin, Christophe raising a knowing eyebrow. Yuuri ignores them both. “Victor and I are very happy with the results,” He says, fumbling with his smile, “I’ll do my best in the Rostelecom Cup as well. Please keep on supporting me!”

He bows in gratitude before the press can ask anything else—Yuuri can sense them practically vibrating with hunger for answers, for details about the kiss, and it’s terrifying; the reporters are like a pack of wolves sometimes. Thankfully, Chris follows his lead and says his farewell, making his way back to his coach despite the protests from the journalists that inevitably trail after him. They haven’t gotten a comment out of him yet.

Phichit throws an arm around him as the press disperses, laughing giddily in his ear, and despite being tired, Yuuri grins at the familiar feeling of fondness that swells in his chest. “You won,” Yuuri says in awe, hugging his friend back, “Congratulations, Phichit. I’m so happy for you!”

“My first gold medal, Yuuri!” Phichit exclaims, pulling back to give Yuuri a blinding smile. “Can you believe it? I finally have a gold medal.”

“I know,” Yuuri says warmly, “It’s amazing. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Phichit chuckles, settling down from his excitement, and then his smile turns devious. “You know, I may have won gold, Yuuri, but you won silver AND a skating legend!”

“P-Phichit,” Yuuri protests. He should have known Phichit won’t let him off easy. “Let’s not—”

“You got a kiss, too!”

“Phichit, please—”

“How did kissing Victor Nikiforov feel? Was it good? Dreamy?” Phichit asks with a too broad smile, dark eyes twinkling with mischief and his eyebrows wiggling in the most ridiculous manner. “Was there tongue involved—?”

“ _Phichit_!” Yuuri squawks and slaps a hand over the Thai skater’s mouth, scandalized. Phichit’s impish laugh is muffled against his palm and Yuuri is pretty sure he looks like a tomato, torn between mortification and laughter because Phichit is so shameless sometimes.

“It was…good,” Yuuri finally mumbles in an undertone and takes his hand away, flushing deeper when Phichit whistles low. “It was shocking, but it was good.” His mind drifts back to the memory of Victor’s warm mouth pressing against his, adoring and so, so happy, stealing the air from his lungs as they tumbled down to the hard ice.

If it weren’t for the crowd and the fact that the rink was freezing his back off, Yuuri thinks he would have yanked Victor back down and let Victor kiss him breathless, kiss him stupid again and again and again, lips slotting and moving in all the best ways until Yuuri’s mind is blank and silent, until he’s melting underneath Victor, until he’s gasping, until he forgets where they are, what his own name is, and all he can remember is Victor, Victor, Victor, _Victor—_

“—to celebrate!”

Yuuri startles and blinks rapidly, disoriented. “What?”

Phichit pauses. “Were you listening?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

“You were thinking about the kiss, weren’t you?”

 _Yes._ “N-No.”

“Uh huh,” Phichit says with a smile, entirely unconvinced, but resumes talking and Yuuri is struggling to concentrate on listening. It’s a little difficult, when his brain is muddled and all Yuuri can think about is how sore his feet are, how the lights are hurting his eyes, and how a hot shower and the hotel bed sound like heaven.

Yuuri nods absentmindedly when Phichit gestures with his hands, and then thinks of the peaceful cab ride back to the hotel with Victor. He thinks of resting his head on Victor’s shoulder, his dark coat probably smelling like cologne and a little bit of aftershave. He thinks of Victor walking him back to his room, maybe giving him a good night kiss—

“—in China! So what do you say?” Phichit asks.

Yuuri jerks away from his thoughts once again—what is wrong with his stupid brain today, honestly, it keeps on distracting him, Phichit was trying to say something—and looks at his friend’s eager face, waiting for his answer.

Yuuri doesn’t even know what they’re talking about anymore.

“Uh,” he says hesitantly, “yes?”

Thankfully, it seems like the correct answer as Phichit brightens. “Great!” Phichit grins at him, and Yuuri does his best to return it with all the remaining energy he can muster up. “You should go get Victor—”

Yuuri sighs a little. Oh, good. They’re going back to the hotel, after all—

“—and I’ll go get the others!” Phichit says, and Yuuri freezes. Wait, what?

“Wait—”

“Let’s meet outside in 10, okay, Yuuri?”

“But Phichit—”

“This is going to be so much fun!”

“Phichit!” Yuuri calls helplessly as the Thai skater walks away, waving at Guang-Hong Ji from afar. He racks his brain about their conversation, wondering what it is exactly that he agreed to. Yuuri thinks he heard Phichit say something about dinner and a celebration and other people, as well as a last day in China. “ _No_ ,” Yuuri groans as the realization finally sinks into him.

He’s in for a long night.

 

.

.

.

 

The search for Victor takes longer than Yuuri originally planned, and Yuuri is getting a little concerned. He’s scanned the stadium thrice already after changing out of his costume, went around the rink twice with his aching feet and got held up by reporters at least five times, and there is still no sign of his coach. Despite knowing Victor will never do it, there’s a tiny (read: loud and panicking) voice inside his exhausted brain that suggests Victor already went back to the hotel without him.

 _Does he already regret kissing me?_ Yuuri clenches his fists by his sides, ignoring the worry that puts a damper on his spirit. His exhaustion feels twice as heavy all of a sudden. He looks around again, searching for a hint of silver in the crowd of people that are slowly making their way towards the exit. _Maybe it doesn’t mean the same for him as it does for me?_

Just as he’s beginning to lose hope, Yuuri hears a call from behind him, familiar and apologetic.

“Yuuri, did you wait long?”

Yuuri turns around to see Victor walking towards him, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands, and deflates in relief. “Victor,” He sighs as Victor moves nearer until they’re only about a foot apart. Yuuri looks down at the bouquet with a confused frown. He’s been thrown so many gifts and flowers and dog plushies after his performance but he doesn’t recall receiving something like that. It looks too expensive to be thrown on the rink. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where were you?”

“I was away to get you this,” Victor says in lieu of an apology, and then hands Yuuri the bouquet without further explanation. Yuuri glances down at the flowers pushed into his grip before glancing up at Victor, who smiles brightly at him. Seeing nothing but adoration in Victor’s eyes, Yuuri’s earlier doubts fade away in an instant. “Congratulations.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says faintly and blushes out of reflex. “You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had to,” Victor argues playfully, his blue eyes soft and warm, as beautiful as an ocean, and Yuuri has never seen anyone so enthralling before. Victor is so lovely, it hurts to look at him. One of his gloved hands reaches up, carefully brushing a stray strand of dark hair from Yuuri’s forehead before coming to rest on his jaw. “You were brilliant today, Yuuri,” Victor says, “Absolutely stunning. I couldn’t look away from you at all.”

 _I can’t look away from you ever_ , Yuuri thinks with a skip of his heartbeat, flushing at the high praise. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” He says instead, cradling the bouquet in his arms. It’s a wonderful arrangement of red roses, wrapped in white and tied together with a bow. It’s the best congratulatory gift he’s ever gotten. “Where did you even get this?”

“It’s a secret~,” Victor singsongs, chuckling when Yuuri huffs. His thumb strokes gently over Yuuri’s cheekbone, blue eyes fond at Yuuri, and then Victor is leaning closer, inch by inch as if he’s doing it unconsciously, and Yuuri can’t tear his eyes away from Victor’s long eyelashes and the slope of his nose and the pretty, pink mouth that Yuuri can’t stop thinking about, even as his lungs seem to have stopped cooperating with him. It’s like their first kiss playing out once more, except it’s better and Yuuri feels electric with anticipation.

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes.

“Yes?” Victor whispers back cheekily, and he’s so close that Yuuri can feel his exhale against his lips, teasing. It makes his breath catch in his throat, makes the butterflies in his gut flutter in the best and worst ways. Yuuri doesn’t know when they started whispering or why they’re standing so close, and distractedly, Yuuri remembers that they’re still in the stadium, in full view of the people that pass by them, and they shouldn’t be doing this right now. He’s supposed to go get Victor for…something.

 _Dinner with Phichit_ , Yuuri’s mind supplies helpfully, and then Yuuri is balking at the reminder. _Oh god, we’ve been making him wait._

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs.

“Phichit,” Yuuri blurts out.

There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then Victor’s pulling away with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“No, that’s not—Victor, not like that,” Yuuri can’t help but laugh at the look of offense on Victor’s face. “I mean Phichit is still waiting for us. Outside.” He grins at Victor sheepishly. “I was supposed to come get you. They want to have a celebratory dinner.”

“Ohhh,” Victor hums in understanding, appeased, “We shouldn’t keep them waiting then.” He takes a step back, and just like that, the tension between them is gone, the moment forgotten. Yuuri immediately misses the warmth Victor radiated.

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, a little reluctant.

“Let’s go,” Victor says, and then offers his hand without a word, looking at Yuuri expectantly. Yuuri stares back in surprise, gingerly taking Victor’s hand, and warmth fills him once again when Victor laces their fingers together. As they walk towards the exit hand in hand, Victor ducks his head a little and speaks into Yuuri’s ear, “For future reference, uttering another man’s name as I’m about to kiss you is completely unacceptable. Okay, Yuuri?”

“Okay,” Yuuri whispers back, flushing at Victor’s smooth admittance of planning to kiss him, and bites his lip to keep from grinning like a fool.

 

.

.

.

 

They eat at a long table in a family-style restaurant with so many other people.

…Alright, maybe _so many_ is an exaggeration. There are only seven people in total, including him and Victor, but the restaurant is crowded enough that Yuuri’s brain is swimming with almost incoherent chatters from neighboring tables, Phichit and Leo’s laughs ringing in his ears.

From where he’s sitting next to Chris, Yuuri glances to the side at Victor who’s holding a quiet conversation in Russian with Georgi. The other man looks sullen and Yuuri only catches the recurring word “ _Anya_ ” as Victor smiles sympathetically and pats Georgi’s shoulder before taking a mouthful from his glass tumbler. The graceful line of his neck bobs as Victor swallows, his lips shiny with moisture when he pulls the glass away, and Yuuri is a weak-willed man at the face of temptation.

His throat is dry at the sight, his face uncomfortably warm, and Yuuri sucks on his lower lip unconsciously. He’s never been a drinker but tonight Yuuri wonders how the alcohol would taste like, directly from Victor’s mouth. _Stop it,_ Yuuri tells himself, embarrassed at the obscene thought, but he can’t seem to look away from Victor at all, recalling their almost-kiss barely moments ago.

 _God_ , Victor had been so close, and Yuuri craves to have the proximity again. It’s not as if they’re far apart now—Victor’s palm is warm over his own, their hands casually intertwined under the table—but Yuuri has the strangest urge to yank him by the tie, press their lips together, and pick up where they left off, present company be damned.

Across the table, Yuuri hears the snap of a camera and turns to see Phichit’s phone fixed on him, his friend grinning from ear to ear. Yuuri blushes a violent red. “Phichit!” He hisses in protest for the nth time of the night, keeping his voice low in order not to attract Victor’s attention.

“Staring is rude, Yuuri,” Phichit whisper-laughs in retort, his fingers flying across the screen of his phone at lightning-speed, no doubt already uploading the picture on Instagram. “#thethirstisreal!”

“Hey,” Yuuri croaks out weakly. He glances to where Guang-Hong is looking at him with wide eyes and a flustered blush, no doubt alarmed at what he’s witnessing. Yuuri drowns in his burning shame. “Phichit,” he pleads, tilting his head at Guang-Hong’s direction, “don’t scar him.”

Phichit sticks his tongue out. “I wasn’t the one staring at Vic—”

Yuuri shushes him. “Phichit!”

“Tag it #I’mtooyoungforthis,” Guang-Hong says next in a whisper, sitting beside Leo, who gives a small chuckle.

“Add on #justkissalready,” Leo tells the Thai skater, and Yuuri’s embarrassment grows as they all gang up on him.

“Mm,” Chris hums thoughtfully beside Yuuri and murmurs, “how about #hot&bothered?”

Leo and Guang-Hong make scandalized noises.

Yuuri chokes. “C-Chris! T-That’s not—I’m n-not—!”

He stammers excuses like an idiot in denial much to Phichit’s delight, taking another picture as Yuuri clumsily tries to explain and fails. Chris ignores him in favor of fluttering his eyelashes at the camera and grinning smugly.

“Oh?” Victor turns to them with curious blue eyes, just then paying attention to the rest of the table, “What’s going on? Why is everyone whispering?”

Phichit only snorts behind his hand, suppressing his laughs as he keeps his eyes on his phone. Both Leo and Guang-Hong look away with guilty smiles. Chris raises an eyebrow, smiling at Victor, “Well—”

“Nothing!” Yuuri squeaks, and there’s an undignified moment of his voice breaking. The younger skaters tremble with badly-contained laughter and by his side, Chris laughs without a care, low and impish. Yuuri clears his throat, unable to save his dignity from the situation. “N-Nothing’s going on.”

Victor quirks a brow and gives his hand a squeeze under the table. “Yuuri?”

“Everything’s fine,” Yuuri insists, relieved when he hears Phichit start a conversation again. Chris huffs and shakes his head, listening to the younger ones with amusement. “I promise, we were just being silly.”

Victor’s ocean eyes study him for a moment before his expression softens into something tender. “If you say so,” Victor says, lips stretching into an affectionate smile that makes him look breathtakingly handsome, and it takes all of Yuuri’s strength not to pull him in for a kiss in front of everyone.

Thankfully, it’s then that Victor lets go of his hand and pushes his chair back. Chris glances up to watch him. “I’ll be back in a second,” Victor excuses himself quietly as he stands, “Men’s room.”

Yuuri nods. “Sure.”

Everything calms down for a moment as Phichit asks Georgi about his quads, Leo and Guang-Hong huddled over something on Leo’s phone, and the earlier blunder is forgotten. Yuuri turns back to his plate with a sigh. He pokes at his noodles, reluctantly taking a bite again, and feels Chris’s eyes on the side of his head.

Yuuri glances at him briefly. “Chris?”

“Mm, nothing,” Chris drawls with a slow smile and picks up his drink. It looks like the same one Victor ordered. “Just had a fantastic thought.”

“Okay?” Yuuri says in confusion. When Chris doesn’t give him a reply, he resumes eating, listening to Georgi explain in his accented English how their training is in Russia with Phichit butting in every now and then with a question.

They’re in the middle of talking about quadruple loops when something cold spills onto Yuuri’s shirt. He gives a startled yelp, jumping a little in his seat. Everyone turns to look at him in concern, and Yuuri turns to look at Chris for an explanation, a little incredulous.

“Oops,” Chris bats his lashes, eyes wide with innocence Yuuri knows he doesn’t have. He offers his table napkin and Yuuri takes it to pat at his chest, trying to dry himself off. The scent of alcohol is strong, clinging to the fabric. “My hand slipped. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

“Right,” Yuuri sighs. He doesn’t exactly know what Chris is up to, but he does know it’s not anything good.

“You should go clean up in the men’s room,” Chris suggests lightly, his voice odd. Yuuri pauses to frown a little at him in question. “Oh, do you want me to help?” Chris asks next, sending Yuuri into another round of mortified blushing.

“No need,” Yuuri hastily reassures as he pushes away from the table and stands. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t take too long,” Chris calls after him with a wink, looking a little too satisfied for Yuuri’s liking but Yuuri decides to brush it off as he stalks toward the restroom. Chris can be a little too eccentric sometimes.

 

.

.

.

 

The sight of Victor fixing his hair is the first thing that greets him when Yuuri opens the door.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, surprised as he meets Victor’s gaze through the mirror. He’s almost forgotten Victor is still in the men’s room.

“Yuuri,” Victor greets, taken aback as well. When he turns to face Yuuri properly, his eyes fall on the wet stain on Yuuri’s shirt. He clicks his tongue in fond exasperation. “My, my, what happened to you?”

“Chris spilled his drink on accident,” Yuuri explains, making his way toward the sink. He eyes the bottle of liquid soap, wondering if it’s strong enough to take the scent of alcohol away. Yuuri looks around for paper towels but the dispenser is empty. “Victor, do you have a handkerchief or—?”

“Here,” Victor chuckles, taking a navy blue handkerchief from his pocket. As if reading Yuuri’s mind, Victor runs a portion of it under the running water, puts a small amount of soap on it, and rinses it again. He pulls the wet cloth out of reach when Yuuri makes a motion to take it, and bullies Yuuri into staying still. “Let me do it.”

“I can do it myself, Victor,” Yuuri protests in embarrassment, “I’m not a child.”

“I never said you were,” Victor smiles, peering at Yuuri underneath his eyelashes. He’s unfairly gorgeous in the yellow light of the restroom, and Yuuri’s heart hammers in his chest as he stares back at Victor, entranced. “But my silver medalist deserves taking care of, don’t you think?” Victor’s voice drops low around the words and it’s unfair, he’s being unfair, Yuuri is almost certain Victor is doing it on purpose.

“Fine,” Yuuri croaks out in defeat anyway, and watches as Victor pats the stained area gently with the handkerchief, his blue eyes focused on Yuuri’s shirt. They’re close once more, Victor invading Yuuri’s personal space and Yuuri can hardly breathe without taking in Victor’s cologne. With a lump in his throat and his heart racing, Yuuri looks at Victor, hypnotized with the way his long lashes fan out on his cheekbones whenever he blinks, grey strands of hair falling charmingly on the side of Victor’s face as he’s ducking his head down, inspecting the stain with a critical eye.

It’s quiet inside the restroom aside from their combined breathing, and nervously, Yuuri thinks his heartbeat is loud enough to be heard in the silence. They’re alone again, a fact that does terrible things to Yuuri’s self-control because how can he resist now with Victor this close when he’s waited for so long and no one else around and—

“Oh,” Yuuri lets out an exhale of realization, blinking. Did Chris spill his drink on purpose after all, knowing this was possibly going to happen?

“Hm?” Victor asks curiously, tilting his head up, and suddenly they’re mere centimeters away from each other’s faces, Yuuri caught in mid-breath and Victor’s eyes wide and blue and dazzling as they stare into Yuuri’s.

“Victor,” is the only warning Yuuri says before his hands are gripping fistfuls of Victor’s fancy suit, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips fervently against Victor’s soft mouth. Yuuri takes a dizzying inhale at the contact. He has wanted this _for so long._ Victor’s lips part a little, dropping the cloth in surprise, and _oh, god yes_ , there’s the taste of alcohol, sharp and sweet and Victor’s lips are so warm, sending tremors down Yuuri’s spine as Victor finally kisses back, placing a hand on Yuuri’s hip and the other fitting gently over his nape, tilting Yuuri’s head back to deepen the kiss and—

“Victor,” Yuuri gasps, unable to form any other words, “ _Victor—“_

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers breathlessly, pulling back a fraction to suck in a gasp, and then Yuuri’s yanking him back in, making shameful needy noises at the back of his throat as he nips Victor’s lower lip and then soothes the sting, pressing in hungrily, kissing desperately, and Victor’s mouth is heady and addictive, leaving Yuuri wanting _more, more, more—_

“Can’t get enough of you,” Yuuri breathes out in a rush, no longer caring about how embarrassing his words are, “I was thinking about this all night.”

“ _Ah_ , Yuuri,” Victor hisses, groaning against his mouth when Yuuri tugs at his hair. “ _God, Yuuri, yes—_ ,” the rest of his sentence dissolves into what sounds like Russian in between their impatient kisses, or maybe Yuuri has lost the ability to understand language, but either way Yuuri can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s drunk on the feel of Victor’s soft lips and careful teeth, his kisses tasting like happiness and adoration and liquid desire, his arms strong as they cage Yuuri in, warm hands burning a brand on Yuuri’s skin through his clothes. Yuuri doesn’t actually know what he’s doing, his mouth having a mind of its own, his hands travelling up to get lost within soft grey hair as Yuuri kisses Victor again and again but what he lacks in experience, Yuuri makes up in enthusiasm, reveling in the sweet sighs that escape Victor.

 _I love you_ , Yuuri thinks as he closes his eyes and lets himself be lost within the sensation of Victor’s lips moving against his, their bodies pressed tight and graceful hands holding him like he’s something precious, _I love you so much._

Kissing Victor feels like breathing underwater, like being submerged in heat and longing and overwhelming exhilaration, and _Yuuri is drowning._ Everything is too much and at the same time not enough, and Yuuri’s gasping, dazed and intoxicated, melting against Victor, and his heart is swelling with so much love it hurts.

“What’s gotten into you?” Victor murmurs in awe as Yuuri trails kisses on his jaw, pulling on his hair and making Victor bare the vulnerable line of his throat. “Not that I’m— _ah—_ complaining but I’m not— _ngh,_ Yuuri _,_ ” Victor sighs shakily as Yuuri sucks on the sensitive flesh, marking him, “I’m not used to seeing you like this—”

“Wanted to kiss you again,” Yuuri admits with a hot flush on his cheeks, leaving Victor’s neck alone and pulling him down to claim his lips once more, “I couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop thinking about it after you kissed me on the ice.”

“Was it that good?” Victor has the gall to tease, even when he can hardly catch his breath. Yuuri bites his lower lip in retaliation. “I— _ah_ —I couldn’t help myself, you were so beautiful in your performance. And that quadruple flip—”

“Mm,” Yuuri’s fingers curl around the tiny hairs on Victor’s nape when Victor slows the kiss, turns it into a mind-numbingly sweet push-pull of their lips, “that was my first kiss. Well, the first one that mattered, at least.”

“Oh,” Victor says thoughtfully, “maybe I should have used more tongue—”

“Shut up,” Yuuri grumbles as his face heats and bites at Victor again, making a strangled sound when Victor does the same thing, gently tugging Yuuri’s lower lip in between his teeth and sucking on it, turning Yuuri’s brain into mush. “Victor,” he says, hands grabbing wildly at Victor’s clothes to pull him impossibly closer, “Victor, _Victor, yes, more_ —”

“So beautiful,” Victor praises brokenly in between the collision of their lips, “You’re so wonderful, Yuuri, I adore you—”

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat at the confession just as his back bumps against something hard and cold. Belatedly, he realizes Victor has crowded him up against a tiled wall, and Yuuri quickly loses all sense of thought and reason when Victor starts attacking his mouth with the single-minded focus of kissing the life out of him, clever lips coaxing out breathy sighs from Yuuri’s throat.

They kiss for what seems like an eternity, alternating from soft and teasing to lingering and deep to fast and desperate and then slowing down once more until both of them are breathing raggedly against each other’s mouths, lips numb and tingling from the pressure, lungs burning and minds dizzy with the lack of air. Yuuri pulls away first with a gasp, cupping Victor’s flushed face in his hands as he struggles to get his breathing back to normal. Victor’s normally pristine hair is disheveled beyond salvation, mussed from Yuuri’s fingers, and there’s a pink tint that rests high on Victor’s cheekbones. He looks gorgeously overwhelmed with his ocean eyes blown dark with fervor and his lips bruised red and shiny.

Yuuri traces the corner of Victor’s mouth with a gentle thumb, slowly coming down from his high, and gives a surprisingly shy smile, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Victor says back at him and presses a brief kiss on his cheek, and there’s a faint hickey peeking just above the collar of Victor’s suit, and what the hell, they just made out in a public place like a couple of impatient teenagers, like they’re not grown men with professional figure skating careers—and they’re still inside the restroom in the restaurant, Yuuri still pressed up against the cold tiles, and Yuuri can’t help it.

He laughs, sudden and high, finding the whole situation kind of ridiculous.

“What?” Victor coos softly, grinning wide at him. Despite his cluelessness, he’s laughing too. “Yuuri, what are you laughing about?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuuri gasps around a laugh, trying to hide his red face behind his hands. Victor pries them away persistently, half-hearted protests leaving him as he grins and Yuuri can’t stop laughing, “God, I can’t believe this. Victor, what are we doing?”

Victor blinks at him. “Well, we were kissing. But if you have to ask, then perhaps I’m not doing it right—”

“No, no, it’s all good,” Yuuri grins. “I mean, _why_ are we kissing and hiding out inside a restroom, of all places?” He laughs again, lightheaded and a little weak-kneed as he sags against Victor in a hug, cheeks flushed with exertion and just a bit of mortification. “I can’t believe I made out with you in a public restroom. I feel like a teenager all over again.”

“You started it,” Victor reminds him with a smile. He runs a hand through Yuuri’s dark hair, combing through the strands. “If it’s any consolation, I always try to stay young at heart.”

Yuuri snorts, and Victor makes an offended noise that sends both of them giggling again.

“It’s the first time I’ve felt this,” Yuuri sighs quietly as he calms down, thoughtful, and Victor turns his head to the side to look at him. “Nobody has ever kissed me like that before.”

“Like how?” Victor asks.

Yuuri smiles, soft and small, “Like I’m the only person they want. Like I’m enough.”

“You are,” Victor whispers, without missing a beat. His tone leaves no room for an argument. This time, when he leans down to kiss Yuuri, it’s nothing more than a chaste peck on the lips but Yuuri grins beautifully nonetheless, lighting up his dark eyes in the most marvelous way. “You are so much more than enough.”

 

.

.

.

 

When they get back to their table, some of the customers have already left the restaurant, and everything is a little calmer. The dishes on their table are being cleaned up and Phichit is already handling the bill. As they go near, all the others turn to look—Yuuri’s lips are swollen pink, Victor has a hickey on his neck, and their clothes are embarrassingly rumpled. “U-Um,” Yuuri stammers, unable to come up with a proper explanation, and Victor laughs next to him.

Georgi gapes at them.

Leo and Guang-Hong make scandalized faces.

Chris winks, raising his tumbler in smug congratulations, and Phichit whips his phone out again, taking a dozen more pictures. Yuuri is pretty sure Instagram is exploding with scandalous photos of him and Victor at this point.

When Victor pulls him snug to his side and throws up a peace sign at the camera, Yuuri can’t do anything else except smile helplessly, and do the same.

 

.

.

.

 

They manage to go back to their hotel room before midnight, and when Yuuri opens the door and shuffles in, Victor follows after him without a word.

They kiss when Yuuri sets the bouquet down on the table.

They kiss as he takes his silver medal and hangs it over Victor’s neck.

“After all my gold medals, silver sure is a refreshing change,” Victor teases lightly, chuckling when Yuuri hits him on the arm.

They kiss before they separate to take turns showering.

They kiss as Yuuri dries his hair, the two of them sitting on the edge of the hotel bed.

They kiss again and again and again as they lie under the covers, snuggled up into each other’s body heat.

“If we don’t stop,” Victor breathes against Yuuri’s lips, his blue eyes brilliant even in the fuzzy darkness of the room, “you’re going to quickly get tired of kissing me, Yuuri.”

“Never,” Yuuri argues stubbornly. To prove his point, he surges up for another one, delighted at the taste of Victor’s enamored smile. Victor can kiss him a million times, Yuuri muses sleepily, and he would only plead for a million more.

They kiss with their eyes permanently half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion.

They kiss until they fall asleep.

 

.

.

.

 

Victor wakes up the next morning to the sensation of fingers playing with his hair and the warmth of the sunlight on his face.

“Hi,” Yuuri greets him tenderly as soon as he realizes Victor is awake, and then presses his lips on Victor’s forehead.

Victor lets out an appreciative hum.

“My mother called,” Yuuri says next, and Victor blinks away the remaining sleep clinging to his eyes. If Yuuri brings up something out of the blue, it must be important. Worth being properly awake for, at the very least.

It’s then that his brain reminds him of yesterday’s events—Yuuri winning silver, the two of them on a celebratory dinner with all the others, the two of them kissing inside the restaurant's restroom.

Him kissing Yuuri on international television.

Yuuri’s family in Japan most probably has seen it.

“What did she say?” Victor asks with no small amount of trepidation. He’s made less than stellar choices in life before. He wonders if this is going to be one of them.

To his surprise, however, Yuuri breaks into a smile, all teeth and squinty dark eyes, and dear god, he is absolutely _beautiful._ “She told me congratulations for winning silver,” Yuuri grins, “and then she told me congratulations again for winning you.”

Victor laughs, half-amused and altogether relieved.

“She wants to know what you want to eat when we return to Japan.”

“Katsudon, definitely,” Victor answers before pushing himself up on his elbows, giving Yuuri a peck on the lips. “Good morning.”

Dark eyes blink softly at him as Yuuri smiles again, looking warm and radiant bathed in the sunlight. “Good morning,” Yuuri repeats, and then resumes the soft press of their mouths together.

They kiss until they can kiss no more.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Phichit. He's probably the captain of the Victuuri ship, honestly.
> 
> Also! Headcanon that Yuuri is definitely the type to have no impulse control whatsoever when tired.


End file.
